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Mr. Belworthy looked up from the hoof between his knees and winked with great significance at Timothy.

“Kittle cattle—eh? Look at the walk of her! Theer ban’t another girl this side Dartymoor as travels like that. ’Tis light as a bird, an’ you’d doubt if her’d leave a footprint ’pon new-fallen snow.”

“So Diana walked,” declared Tim.

“Did her? A Plymouth maiden, I s’pose?” asked Mr. Belworthy, with simulated indifference.

“No—a goddess of ancient times—just a moonbeam shadow, you know. Not a splendid flesh and blood beauty like your daughter.”

There was no sound but the rasping of the file; then Belworthy spoke again.

“Tokened to a man as’ll never rise much beyond Bellever Barton cow yard—that’s the mischief of it. Her, as might have looked so high, seein’ as the body of her an’ the faace of her be what they be. Not a word ’gainst the chap, mind. Brains is the gift of God, to be given or held back according to His gude pleasure.”

“Such a clever girl, too, I’ll warrant. What did she see in John Aggett, I wonder?”